Roads
by HeavenlyBodies
Summary: Dean’s back, Seals are breaking, angels are angsting, and Spike is the voice of reason- why yes, it is the Apocalypse! SPN/BTVS x-over Dean/Cas and Spike/Xander second in the Frost!Verse, AN's are designed to make readable as stand alone


**Feedback:** Just play nice, and try not to do any permanent damage, k.  
**Disclaimer:** Just playing with the pretty kittens. Unfortunately, neither set are mine, but I will gladly groom and bathe them before sending them back home to their Daddys (aka Joss/Mutant Enemy/et al, Kripke/McG/et al, and a bunch of other corporate-type ppl, who are, in other words, not me).  
**Beta:** My beautiful kitty_alex who loves to correct my mistakes, and not only planted the seeds of Dean/Cas but continues to feed the fire, AND has the guts to tell me when my writing sucks!  
**Warnings/Squicks:** boy touching, schmangst, further abuse of Robert Frost poetry  
**Summary:** Dean's back, Seals are breaking, angels are angsting, and Spike is the voice of reason- why yes, it is the Apocalypse!!!!!

**AN1**: This is a sequel to Miles to Go a Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Supernatural crossover. With the exception of vampires assume that the SPN laws of demonology and spooks apply.  
**AN2**: Useful information…  
On BtVS/AtS  
- Comics? What comics? We don't need no stinkin' comics!  
- This verse went AU during AtS S5 Damage - this means (among other things) none of the Blackthorn arc has happened and there is no Illyria.  
On SPN  
- John Winchester is alive.  
- Sammy stayed in law school; never got picked up by Dean.  
On the Frost!Verse  
- Spike and Xander were formally Mated a year and a half- two years before this fic takes place  
- Spike's nickname for Dean is a reference to Vampire Hunter D and not a simple shortening of Dean.  
**AN3**: Takes place roughly 5 yrs after Miles to Go, in other words current SPN timeline.  
**AN4**: I have messed about with the order of some Seal related events from SPN- this was intentional.  
**AN5**: Title and chapter headings are taken from Robert Frost's The Road Not Taken

* * *

**Prologue**

A chipped black lacquered nail drew lazy circles over Xander's tanned and muscled back. The feather light touch like a trail of electric shocks painting pictures on the man's back. Lazily, Xander opened his rich chocolate eye to see the smiling face of his lover.

"'s nice," he whispered, a bright smile playing over his lips. "You're up early."

The vampire's smile faltered, "I think he needs you," he said, cocking his head towards the adjoining room.

Throwing off the covers, Xander slipped on his patch and his pants. "Nightmare?" he queried his lover, already knowing the answer. Dean had been back for nearly three weeks, not one night of which passed peacefully.

Spike merely inclined his head in acknowledgement.

By the time Xander had entered his friend's room, Dean Winchester was stepping out of a steam filled bathroom.

"Hey, DM," the hazel-eyed hunter tried to sound jovial, "you and Penfold have a spat?"

Xander toed an empty black labelled whiskey bottle out of his way as he went to sit on the bed, ignoring the other man's question. "You okay?"

"Of course I am, why wouldn't I be."

Xander's dark eye scanned the room's dishevelled state before he raised his eyebrow at his friend.

Dean knew better than to argue; they'd been hunting partners for almost five years, and partners learnt to read each other. Shrugging he tried to play it off instead, "Sometimes they're more vivid."

"Maybe we oughta go back to twin rooms for a while? Just 'til things calm down," Xander suggested. He was already concerned over their friend's insistence on being alone after his ordeal. His own past had taught him the kind of baggage that follows you after dying- let alone returning from Hell.

"Ha. Yeah, right. Think the sight of you and Penfold goin' at it might be worse than the flashbacks," Dean snarked.

"Could always join in," filtered from the doorway joining the two rooms.

"Spike!" Xander blushed at his vamp's suggestion.

Dean, on the other hand, laughed- a full belly laugh- before catching his breath enough to say, "Penfold- shush!"

**

* * *

**

**Bent in the Undergrowth**

Spike was beyond furious. He was angry at himself for not being there. Angry with the Great Poof for needing his help- bastard had an entire demonic law firm at his disposal, but still needed _his_ help. Admittedly, the situation had been Dru and if it wasn't for his Dark Princess and her ramblings about 'kittens and hunters trapped between worlds, while Death hung in the balance' Spike wouldn't have known his boy was in trouble. The blonde vampire growled. Most of all, though, most of all he was livid with the blasted angels and their blasted games!  
Alright so they may have saved the Seal, but the price had been high, almost too high. If he hadn't found them when he did- it didn't bear thinking about. As it was they had lost Pamela. It had been hard enough when she'd lost her eyes because of them. Xander had taken it especially hard; it triggering nightmares of the Vineyard that were more vivid and real then they had been in years. Now Pamela was dead- as with Xander all those years ago, Spike hadn't been fast enough.

"There was nothing more you could have done." Castiel's quiet matter-of-fact voice bore through Spike's ruminations.

Without missing a beat the blonde turned on the angel, "Then _you_ should have done something!"

The blue-eyed angel cocked his head back, giving the vampire a side-long glance- a look somewhere between anger and annoyance at the blonde demon's insolence.

Spike simply glared back, unphased.

"William," Castiel growled warningly.

Ignoring him, "Make sure they sleep," Spike indicated the two sleeping mortals. "We need to talk."

Wordlessly, Castiel brushed Dean and Xander's foreheads, insuring they would remain asleep.

The act complete, Spike slammed into the angel. "What in the hells are you playing at?"

"We are not playing at anything," Castiel replied in his infuriatingly calm tone.

"The hells you aren't," the blonde snarled even as he released the angel. Both men understanding the show of force for what it was- not a power struggle, but establishing that, to the vampire, these men were worth fighting for.

Standing, Castiel straightened his coat, "I assure you, Armageddon isn't a game to Him," his eyes shot upwards for emphasis.

"Fine, then tell me what's to gain from nearly getting them killed?"

"Dean is our Warrior. He needs to know that; to believe."

Spike snarled, "And you think he'll believe if you try to kill him often enough?"

Castiel cocked his head, a look of confusion marring his hard features.

Like being hit with the proverbial lightning bolt, Spike suddenly understood. "That is what you're trying to do." The vampire turned his face to the sky and screamed, "You son-of-a-bitch!"

"William." The command in Castiel's voice was almost frightening.

"No," he snarled, game face to the fore. "You and I both know more happened than Dean's telling us. You don't become a Champion by fightin' the good fight. You become one by losing a part of yourself and finding another."

"That is true," Castiel's steely eyes turned a softer shade of blue as he examined the creature before him, intrigued. "Dean must find his will."

"Hmph," the blonde gave a wry chuckle, "got news for you, Clarence, killing him isn't how you're gonna do it."  
Spike shook his head and went to grab a blood bag from the cheap fridge.  
"Want some advice?"

Castiel nodded slowly.

The vamp tossed the bag in the microwave, "Doesn't matter what your God does, Dean's only gonna believe in himself when someone who knows all of him- the parts he fears most and the parts he thinks matter to us- shows faith in him and lets him see he's accepted for **him**."

Confused, "The Lord knows Dean's past- He accepts Dean and has faith."

"Cas, two major problems with that. You're expecting a man who has had no reason to believe in 'God', any god, for the majority of his life to take that at face value. And you want him to believe that a God who accepts everyone and loves everyone equally and unconditionally, has special plans for him. Talking out both sides of 'his' mouth on that one."  
Spike poured his heated blood into a mug and took a large swallow, "'s not something you can make happen by saving his life or telling him 'God' believes in him."

Spike quietly sipped his blood while Cas seemed to contemplate the vampire's words.

Finishing his snack, the vamp clapped the angel's shoulder companionably. "They gonna come outta that on their own?" Spike nodded toward the two double beds and more specifically the men on them.

"Yes," the deep primal sound as much an assurance as the word itself. Castiel's eyes shone a little clearer with a sparkle of what may have been a smile in their blue depths. "They should be well rested as well."

The vampire smirked playfully, a silent 'thank you' to the angel, and went to join his lover in sleep.

* * *

"Hey sexy," Xander chirped.

The vampire groaned, his lover was entirely too chipper for this time of day- whatever time of day it was. Pulling a pillow over his head, Spike thought about the conversation he'd had with Castiel the night before. Spike peered out from beneath the pillow, "Where's D?"

"He went to get sustenance. I took it as a good sign his breakfast wasn't coming from a bottle."

"Huh, angel came through," the vamp muttered.

"Hmm, Angel?"

Chuckling, the blonde explained, "Had a chat with D's angel last night."

"Wow, and there wasn't smiting or bloodshed? I'm impressed."

"Very funny."

Xander moved to sit next to his vampire on the bed, "So what did the Evil Undead and the Holy Tax Accountant have to talk about?"

The vampire's entire being took on a serious edge, "Dean. Apparently, he's God's Champion, or will be if the bastards don't succeed in killing him first."

The dark mortal raised a questioning eyebrow.

"All these stunts they've been pullin', hunts they've been sending us on. They're trying to prove to D that he is their chosen warrior. Misguided attempts at givin' 'im faith in himself."

"You've got to be kidding?" Xander asked in utter disbelief.

"Pfft, wish I were. Told Clarence it was the wrong way to get to him."

Xander lay down next to his vamp, heaving a heavy sigh. "What are we gonna do?"

"He's family, we stand by him and help him through this- bloody angels can sod off."

* * *

For several days now, Castiel had spent what time he could observing his charge and contemplating the vampire's words. He recalled his initial physical encounter with the young hunter, how Dean truly believed he didn't deserve to be saved. The angel had thought letting Dean know that God, Himself, had work for him would be enough to prove his worth. But now, seeing the self-loathing and anguish Dean tried so valiantly to hide, Castiel knew the vampire was right, Dean wouldn't believe until he was ready. Castiel knew time wasn't on their side, either, but he also knew as stubborn as Dean Winchester was that rushing him was not an option.

Today, the angel was an unseen observer as Xander sat on the edge of his bed watching Dean's restless sleep. If events went true to course, Dean would wake soon and reach for his flask.  
Only today, he wouldn't find it.

Xander understood better than most pain and guilt; more to the point, he understood the appeal of anything that would dull the memories and numb the pain. Whatever had happened while Dean was _'away'_, Xander couldn't watch the man, who was like a brother to him, do this to himself.

As the chocolate-eyed mortal had expected, Dean woke with a sharp flinch and a gasp. His eyes shooting open, flashing sadness and terror, before seeming to realize where he was, or rather wasn't. His hand darted under the pillow beside his head, grasping desperately for the burning liquid he'd left there.

"Looking for this?" Xander asked softly, letting the booze slosh audibly in the flask.

Dean sat up, eyeing his friend. "Thanks," he said, reaching out for the flask.

To his surprise, Xander handed it over without protest.

"Not gonna lecture me on the evils of alcohol and the futility of drowning my sorrows?"

The dark man shrugged. "No need. You already know whatever I could say."

Dean stared at the silver bottle in his hands. "I'm not gonna turn into him," he said, referring to his best-friend's drunkard excuse for a father.

Xander heard the unspoken question in those words, the hesitant fear that he was, in fact that same bastard. He smiled, placing a reassuring hand on Dean's shoulder, "I know. You're a good man, Dean. Don't ever doubt that."

Dean chortled humourlessly, "You have no idea."

"Dean, I'm the Mate of William the Bloody, part of the Scourge of Europe, and one of the bloodiest demons who has ever lived… or unlived…," Xander shook his head, "…anyway- there isn't much I haven't heard or can't imagine. Trust me, you **are** a good man, whatever happened doesn't change that."

Uncertain eyes sparkled with dampness, marvelling at the smiling man before him. Xander had lost so much; he'd watched while everyone he cared for pendulum from one extreme to another before finding their equilibrium and he'd stayed by them, a constant.  
Dean found himself smiling as he realized Xander was a constant for him, too. "Thanks, DM," he said, feeling the slightest bit lighter than he had in years.

"Anytime, man. We're always here for you."

Castiel watched in quiet awe as the words of one mortal man did more to restore Dean's faith and self-worth then any acts of the Host.  
And as Dean finally began to heal, Castiel began to understand.

* * *

  
**Way Leads on to Way**

A girl, no more than fifteen-if that, advanced on Spike. Her dark auburn hair tied back in a neat ponytail held by a hot pink schrunchy. She was angry- a face that young shouldn't hold that much hate. "You did this to me," she snarled. "You let it happen."

The vampire's already below normal blood ran cold as he recognized the young girl- a Potential. One who'd died at the Vineyard, the same night Caleb had taken Xander's eye.  
This was all too familiar.  
But he'd been there when the First had been defeated. He'd died a fiery, painful death in the process. The chilled blood in his veins began to boil; he was not a puppet, the First was gone, and whatever this was, would not lead him down that path.  
Snarling Spike slipped into his gameface, he couldn't be sure the girl was solid, but he wasn't taking any chances. "Not this time, bitch." The vamp delivered a roundhouse kick to the apparition's head- it barely moved. "Bollocks."  
The blonde ducked the girl's swing, "Come on princess, taught you better than that." Pulling a knife from his duster as he rose, "Moves like that no wonder you didn't make it. Probably best for the survivors you bought it when you did."

"Monster," she screamed as she charged the vampire, only to dissipate into smoky wisps as she impaled herself on Spike's salt treated knife.

It didn't matter how often he saw that, it unnerved him- a body shouldn't exist then not, even a ghostly one. He only had a moment to think about it before a more important thought hit him- "Xander."  
Spike took off for the room they shared with Dean.  
Just as Spike rounded the corner towards their room, his cell began to ring. "What?!" he barked, still at a dead run, aiming for the reassuring outline of the Impala parked in front of their room.

"Spike? You okay?" Xander asked, concerned by his vamp's sharp tone.

"Will be in 'bout five seconds."

"Wha?"

Xander's answer came in the form of a white topped, black blur barrelling through the door and into him, knocking him onto the bed.

"Uh, you two want some privacy? I can wait in the car," Dean offered, clearly amused at the display.

Coming up from his exploration of his lover's mouth, Spike fixed Dean with a fierce stare and an accusatory finger. "No, you're staying right there," the blonde commanded.

"O-kay, you do remember the whole voyeurism gig's not for me, right?"

"Yeah, Spike, can we not traumatize Dean anymore than possible? Or me for that matter?"

Seeing the two men truly were alright, Spike teased, "Wankers. Don't let a vamp have any fun."

The two mortals laughed, breaking what little tension remained.

"Seriously, Penfold, what was with the grand entrance?"

"Ghostie," Spike shuddered. "Got jumped by an irate former Potential."

Dean and Xander shared a look.

Spike's ice blue eyes darted between the two men, "Somebody wanna let me in on what the bloody hells is goin' on," he demanded.

"You talk; I'll pack."

Nodding once, Xander began to explain, "John called. Seems there's been a rash of hunter deaths. Violent and angry deaths."

"Like a dead Potential blaming you for her death?"

"Yeah, that could do it," the dark man agreed, "but why would a Potential go after hunters?"

"Maybe there's more than one ghostie," the vampire offered.

"Same conclusion Dad and Bobby came to," Dean interjected, grabbing the last of their bags. "You two make a last sweep, I'll check us out."

As the door closed behind the hunter, Xander turned to his vampire, "You okay?"

"' course I am, pet. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Uh, maybe because you know as well as I do, when and where that girl died. And I know you, my bloodthirsty bad ass, well enough to know you still blame yourself for everything that happened with Caleb."

Spike smiled sweetly at his lover, the man who knew him so well, better than he knew himself sometimes. "Yeah, nothing seeing you and D in one piece didn't cure." Giving his boy a quick kiss, "Let's get out of here, see what the others have come up with and beat this thing."

* * *

When they arrived at the junkyard, John and Bobby were already ensconced in Bobby's anti-just-about-everything panic room up to their necks in research.

"You boys alright?" Bobby asked as the three men piled into the small room.

"Well, we're still here- all body parts accounted for," Dean assured the elder hunter.

"That's good to hear."

Dean turned toward the warm familiar tone of his father's voice to see a proud smile covering John Winchester's face. The younger hunter quickly turned away from the sight as the now commonplace feelings of shame and self-disgust began to wash over him. He couldn't bear for his father to look at him like that- not after all he'd done and the pain he'd caused.

"Dean," John squeezed his son's shoulder, "…"

Whatever else the elder Winchester may have planned to say was cut-off by the matter-of-fact inquiry of the blonde vampire. "So, what're we up against and how the hells do we kill it?"

With a soft snort Bobby began to explain what they'd discovered so far. He told them about the scar both, he and John, had seen on the ghosts they'd encountered and that it marked those conjured as part of the Rise of the Witnesses- yet another Seal that had been broken.

Eventually, with the five of them working together, comparing notes and ideas, they were able to identify and perform the rite to quiet the raised spirits.

**

* * *

**

**Could Not Travel Both**

It had been a long day, leaving both mortals strained and exhausted. Thankfully, there was a motel down the road from the salvage yard and the Winchesters and Co. were welcome faces. It took some doing to convince John and Bobby that the trio would be better off at the motel, but a shared look between the resident hunter and the vamp quickly settled the debate- some things even a seasoned hunter like Bobby Singer did NOT want to know about!

As soon as they entered their motel room, Spike drug Xander into the small bathroom to clean him, treat his wounds, and, most importantly, snog his brains out. By the time they returned to the main room, Xander was all but asleep in the vampire's arms.

"How is he?" Dean asked, slightly concerned that the vamp was carrying Xander.

"'s fine. Bumps and bruises. More tired than anything at this point."

"Sure?"

"Yeah, 'm sure, D," Spike reassured the agitated hunter. "Just go get yourself cleaned up- ya look like hell, mate."

Dean rolled his green eyes, "Yeah, yeah, very funny," flipping the blonde off good-naturedly before closing the bathroom door.

When Dean emerged, his two companions were asleep, wrapped around each other. Laying in his own bed, Dean stared at the cracked ceiling tiles, trying not to reach for his flask to dull his memories enough for him to sleep.  
If he stared long enough and hard enough his vision would begin to blur and unsaid words whispered on the air would float around him in a voice like rolling sand- harsh and smooth, able to destroy even as it brought out beauty. As his vision continued to lose perspective, cracks became the outline of black wings and eventually the comforting warmth of deep blue eyes. The wings of his angel, so often the last thing Dean saw before he fell asleep.

Castiel appeared, as he did with increasing regularity, the moment Dean was asleep. Like some living gargoyle, the angel sat on the hunter's bed simply watching over him.  
Occasionally, Castiel would stroke his charge's face or hair, the angel's fingers lingering against the warmth of Dean's skin or the softness of his hair.

"You should tell him," Spike's smooth accent unmistakable even in a whisper.

Castiel's eyes flew open as he turned to face the voice. The angel was surprised to see understanding and concern in the vampire's crystal gaze. "I can't. It would not be appropriate."

The blonde carefully disentangled himself from his Mate. "Come on Clarence, outside." Spike pulled on his jeans and a tee, then jerked his head toward the door.

Hesitantly, Castiel nodded and accompanied the vampire outside.

Closing the door quietly, Spike led them to the Impala. Leaning against the car that was the closest thing any of them had to a home, "Don't give me that inappropriate bollocks."

"It's not 'bollocks'," Castiel replied, rolling the unfamiliar word an his tongue.

Snarling, the blonde lit a smoke, "Why? All that love for all God's creatures rot?"

"Yes," the angel's gravelly voice acknowledged as if it was the most obvious and natural thing in the world, "exactly that."

"Bullshit!"

Castiel's brow furrowed as he tried to fathom what had the vampire so adamant. "William, I-"

The angel's use of his given name, irksome at the best of times, incited a fierce glower from the blonde.

Raising his hands in a placating gesture, Castiel tried again, "Spike, I understand. You-"

"No," Spike spoke quietly, "you don't understand. We see how you are with him. I see you watching over him every night. I _feel_ when you ease him to sleep."

Steel blue eyes widened in surprise, "That shouldn't be possible." A demon might notice his presence, possibly even sense his influence, but not be aware of his purpose.

Spike chuckled at being able to shock the angel, "Relax, Clarence, I haven't fit the mold for over a century; I'd be surprised if I started now.  
"Doesn't change the fact that you care about 'im. I'm guessing more than you think you should." The blonde's eye rose in a subtle question.

Castiel's eyes went blank as he stared forward like a soldier at roll call, "An angel of the Lord is a warrior, they do not feel as humans do, their love is constant and equilateral."

"Yeah and vampires are only demons inhabiting a human shell, we have no 'spirit', and can't love or feel any true emotion." Spike crushed the remainder of his cigarette under his boot, "You'll have to forgive me if I find that a load of crap."

Castiel stood quietly, processing the vampire's words and being more than a little disturbed that he saw the correlation.

"Cas, you need to tell him at some point; the sooner the better 'cause, trust me," the blonde turned sad, thankful eyes on their room, "you don't often get a second chance."

* * *

  
Bright and early, there was a resounding knock on the motel door.

The lump on the far bed growled and curled tighter around his human.

"Spike, I need to get that. It could be important," Xander chastised, trying to extract himself from his vamp cocoon.

"D can get it; 's for him anyway."

"He's in the shower, Bloodbreath."

Spike quirked an eye, "Again?"

"Please, like you really blame him. For an evil vampire you are awful fond of your creature comforts," his lover teased.

There was another knock on the door, followed by, "Dean? Xander? Coffee's gettin' cold."

Dragging himself out of bed, Xander opened the door. "Hey, John." He stepped back from the doorway to let the older man enter.

"Thanks," John ducked his head in salute. Darting his eyes around the room, he took in the Spike-lump, and the closed bathroom door and the sound of running water. "He in there?"

"Yeah, he should be out soon. If not we'll send in a search party."

The darker Winchester chuckled. "You take good care of him."

"We try."

"No, you **do**." John smiled a sad self-depreciating smile. "I see the difference in him."

Xander squeezed the man's arm in silent reassurance.

"Has he said anything about what happened?"

The one-eyed Californian shook his head, "Not yet."

John merely nodded his understanding.

The sound of the water being shut off cut through the thick silence as the three men waited for the younger Winchester to emerge.

* * *

Dean had woken up feeling dirty, like he did most mornings. 'That's the thing about Hell,' he thought, 'it gets _into_ you. Not just under your skin, but inside. Maybe it was always there, maybe people are just naturally evil; maybe I'm naturally evil.'  
For weeks, when Dean awoke and felt like this, he'd try to drown or at least dull the feelings with booze, but he knew how much it affected Xander. And Xander was as much a brother to him as Sammy, in some ways more so- Xander gave him hope- which was why this morning, instead of reaching for his flask of fire water, he opted for the motel's lukewarm shower water. It was a choice Dean had been making more and more often in recent weeks. It might not be so good at dulling the pain of the past, but at least it kept him from causing more pain in the present.  
Rubbing his face in his hands, Dean sighed, he knew his father was in the outer room. Even if John hadn't been at the motel, Dean knew he would've had to face him eventually. Leaning over the sink, towel wrapped snugly around his waist, Dean stared at his reflection. Jaded eyes searched their emerald counterparts, looking for any trace of the man Dean once was. His eyes caught sight of the handprint covering his left shoulder. In a sad, hushed whisper he asked the air, "Why, Cas? I belonged there."

"Good men do not belong in Hell," the gruff, resonating voice of the angel answered him.

"Good men don't break."

"All men break, Dean. Their true nature comes through in what they do after."

Dean closed his eyes willing the world to make sense and for Castiel's words to be true.

A soft knock jerked Dean from his stupor.

"Hey D, you fall in?"

"Keep your patch on DM; be out in a sec."

Xander laughed and went back to join the others. He knew Dean was far from healed, but he could tell his friend would be.

Throwing cold water on his face, Dean took a deep breath and went to face his family. He entered the room to see Xander dragging a grumpy vampire out of their bed.

"Come on Blondie, let's get you some proper food and give them a chance to talk."

Spike wriggled free of the blankets and his lover, "Hold your horses! Don't want me turning all toasty, do you? Suddenly, have the urge to have a pile of ash for a lover?"

The dark mortal looked a bit bashful, "You know I don't. But you wear the damn thing all the time, so forgive me if I just assume."

The previous year when the pair had been Mated, Willow and Fred had come up with the perfect wedding gift- a way to allow Spike to go out in daylight. It had taken a bit of cajoling and a lot of research, but the intellectual duo had managed to do it. Now, the enchanted, gemmed necklace never left the vampire's neck; the ability to protect his Mate, even during the day, as valuable to him as Xander himself.

"Can't be too careful. 's not like Peaches has a stash of chips from the Gem of Amara layin' around waiting for someone to set them and hand them out to the good vamps of the world."

Xander nodded, having heard the blonde's rant on numerous occasions- usually, when he didn't like being tossed out of bed. "Well, do you have it?"

Lazily, Spike slipped on his jeans and a tee then fingered the chain around his neck, "Yep. Guess we can go, pet."

"Thank the gods!" Xander teased pushing the blonde out the door.

John swirled the coffee in the cardboard cup while his eldest son got dressed. "I never told you how proud I was of you."

"Dad."

"No son, I need to say this." He caught Dean with his commanding gaze. "I was a lousy father, barely around, virtually left you to raise Sammy on your own. When I was around, it was more like training exercises and boot camp, and I'm sorry. I am so proud of you." The elder Winchester offered a self-depreciating smile, "Did my damnedest to screw you boys up, but you managed to make sure you and Sam turned out alright. Better than, in fact."  
Breaking eye contact, John rolled his eyes to the ceiling, "I wasn't worth it. That's why I was **so** angry. You never should have made that deal for my life."

Dean sat heavily on the side of the motel bed, "Dad, don't."

"It's the truth, Dean." He chuckled wryly, "You and Sammy are my legacy," John's voice began shaking and he placed his hand on Dean's shoulder, "you're both better men, and I owe that to you. You're the strong one, always have been."

"I'm not strong."

"You're stronger than you think," John smiled again this time meaning it fully. "I don't pretend to know what happened and everything you went through, but I know you."

Dean smirked sadly, "Don't think so, Dad. I don't even know me."

"Dean, I know all I need to know about you. You're my son. You come back from Hell and jump head first into the game, fighting, hunting, and if Castiel is to be believed saving the world from Armageddon. Can you not see how strong that makes you? How resilient?"

Dean's green eyes glistened, questioning his father. "Dad? The things I did down there…" the younger Winchester shook with the strain of trying to contain his emotions.

John hung his head, knowing how hard it was for his eldest son to admit even that small piece of his time in the Pit. He squeezed Dean's shoulder tightly, "I love you. You did what you had to and you survived. You're still my boy and I'm proud of you."

Looking into his father's eyes, Dean choked out, "Dad." That one word speaking volumes, seeking confirmation, forgiveness, acceptance.

Unhesitantly, John pulled his son to him, "Always, son. Always."

* * *

  
**All the Difference**

The nightmare crashed all around Dean. Memories, visions, people- the Witnesses… and as always, he couldn't wake up, couldn't escape.  
Even when he did break free the images and voices clung to him like a physical thing, choking him with it's presence.  
Tonight, however, he was woken by a fierce burning in his arm. His terror-filled eyes shot open to see soothing crystal blue ones radiating calm and concern at him. "Cas," he sighed. "That hurt, you know." Dean lightly rubbed his arm where the angel had marked him months ago, realizing that the burn he felt had been Castiel placing his hand on the scar.

"I'm sorry, Dean. You seemed to be in distress."

"Aw, Cas. I didn't know you cared."

The angel rolled his eyes and Dean wondered if Cas knew he was picking up human traits.

"I have always been," Castiel paused as if searching for the appropriate word, "concerned for you."

Sighing, Dean sat up against the headboard, "I know Cas, guardian angel and all that crap." Dean's sardonic tone left no doubt as to what he thought of the angel's guardianship and 'concern'.

"Dean, please. I didn't come to fight."

"What is it then, Cas?" his own voice tempered by the pleading in his angel's.

Castiel's brow furrowed, and he sat next to Dean on the bed, "I needed to…" hesitating Castiel shook his head. "It's nothing."

"Cas, you show up here in the middle of the night, wake me up because you're worried about me, and now it's nothing? Sorry," Dean made an annoying buzzer noise, "wrong answer. Would you care to try again?"

"It's… I…," Castiel turned to face the smart mouthed mortal.

Dean was startled by the dark, hungry look in Cas' normally cool gaze. "Cas? You okay, man?"

"I don't know, Dean," he answered sadly. "I _want_." Without further warning or explanation Castiel leant forward, pressing his hesitant lips to Dean's.

Pulling back slowly, his now steel coloured eyes bore into the hunter's, "I want," he whispered.

There was a rustle of air and the angel was gone.

For a moment, Dean just stared at the place his angel had occupied, before closing his eyes and whispering, "Cas… I want, too."

Suddenly, it was all too much. He had to get out, get away from this room, from his friends, just OUT. Dean threw his legs over the bed, quickly pulling on his jeans and shirts.  
Just as Dean was closing the door behind him, a pale elegant hand wrenched it back open.

Piercing blue eyes, more crystalline than those of his angel, peered questioningly at the hunter, "You know, most people tell their mates when they're running off in the middle of the night."

"Most people don't have these kinds of problems."

Wordlessly, Spike slipped out the door, closing it firmly behind them. "Problems like knowing there's a darkness inside you and even though you don't have to fight against it every minute of every day you can't ever forget that it's there, just below the surface? And you know, you just _know_, that your mere presence taints the people you care most about and eventually your darkness will destroy all that's good about them?" The vamp leaned against the closed door, thumbs hooked in his belt loops, a knowing look playing softly across his face, "those kinds of problems?"

Dean puffed a short hard breath of air out his nose, lowering and shaking his head, "Guess we're a pair, aren't we, Penfold?" The hunter clasped Spike's shoulder, "Thanks, man."  
He chuckled wryly, "Though you forgot the part about having a hard-on for an angel."

"Did I?" the blonde asked, tilting his head as if he could see through the door to his dark lover asleep on their bed. Slanting his expressive blue eyes toward Dean, "Thought I covered that rather well."

"Maybe, you did," Dean acknowledged. Looking up at the clear night sky, things felt simple for the first time in months, "I'll be back before dawn."

Spike nodded, "In the morning then," and went back inside to his Mate.

* * *

It had been close to two hours since Dean had left the motel, but the night was cool, the air fresh, and the thoughts weighing on his mind plentiful.  
Spike had been right, damn vampire usually was when it came to these things. Dean found himself laughing, remembering five years ago and the reason Willow had sent Xander to meet him and his father. He could still hear her satisfied, chirping voice declaring 'Of course you two get along. You're just like Spike, only human,' and these days that description seemed even more accurate.  
"Damnit!" Dean screamed. He wanted to call for Cas, wanted to make the angel see that he didn't deserve the angel's love. "Why can't you just see it, stupid angel?"

"See what, Dean?"

"See that I'm no good!" The hunter was too lost or perhaps too accustomed to his angel's sudden appearance to react.

Castiel sighed heavily as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. "We have discussed this. I'm at a loss as to how to prove to you otherwise."

Dean barked a short, hard laugh, "You can't Cas, just accept that."

The angel turned his back to the man he simultaneously loved and wanted to pound sense into. "I cannot accept that which I know to be false."

"You don't know **anything**, Cas. You can't know what I am."

With sudden clarity Castiel rounded on Dean, his shadowy wings unfurling, a billowing backdrop to serve as a reminder of exactly what Cas was. "I know you, Dean Winchester. I know ALL of you. I know of your life on Earth, of the lives you've saved, of those you've changed- for good and ill. I know of your time in the Pit- the horrors you suffered and those you suffered unto others. I **know** you, and I _know_ your heart- the darkness and the light. Still, I stand by you. Still, I place my faith in you. Still, I offer you all that I am. I know you, Dean Winchester, and you are a great man."

For long moments, Dean stared at Castiel, awestruck by his words and even more so by the realization that he believed them. When Dean finally found his voice all he could manage was, "You knew?"

Castiel's hard blue eyes softened and the hint of a smile played at his lips as he nodded once.

"And still?" Dean asked in amazement.

"And still," the angel confirmed.

Dean's world closed in around him. The dark gossamer feathers of his angel's wings filling his vision; the wisp of their cloud-like touch brushing his cheek. He wanted to lose himself in the quiet touch.

A warm hand slipped behind Dean's neck, pulling him to the angel. Lips touched, slowly at first, feeling their way over their tender counterparts.

Then tongues met, teeth clashed, and the world fell away as hunter and angel fell to the ground. The blanket of grass beneath them soft and comforting like one of Dean's well-worn flannels.

"Cas, please," the hazel-eyed hunter gasped, need and want vying for control of his voice.

The angel sat up, still straddling _his_ hunter. Cocking his head, a tiny smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, "Have faith Dean," Castiel gently stroked the side of Dean's face.

Dean's hands gripped the angel's hips tightly as if he were afraid the angel would vanish without his touch. "I have faith in you, but if you don't fuck me soon…" he growled.

Castiel leant forward placing a chaste kiss on his hunter's lips, "I have no intention of 'fucking' anyone. Especially, not you."

For a split second, Dean's face was a tableau of anguish, but Cas ignored it, favouring his task of removing Dean's shirt.

"To share yourself with another is the greatest joy our Father gave to humans. It should be undertaken with reverence and love." Eyes that sparkled like the midnight sky, deep, blue, and eternal, bore into Dean's, driving home the angel's words.

No more words were spoken. Desires were known and fulfilled by instinct. The only sounds coming from the heat and friction of two bodies learning each other.

Castiel pulled Dean's shirts over his head, running his hands up and down the mortal's chest. Fingers stopping to trace the protection tattoo above Dean's heart, before placing a loving kiss in the centre of the ward.

Dean's own hands worked to reach the angel's skin, untucking his dress shirt to wriggle his night-chilled hands against his angel.

Sharing his lover's desire, Castiel removed his coat and jacket, managing to loosen his tie before both he and his hunter became impatient, ripping the fabric of his shirt, sending the small buttons sailing wildly into the darkness.

As Dean mapped the angel's pale chest, Cas fought with belts and zippers; somehow managing to remove both his and his hunter's remaining clothing. Careful fingers explored Dean's body, touching, memorizing, and lavishing love on every patch of skin.

Dean revelled in the feel of his angel, his closeness a balm to every part of him. He thrust up against Castiel, their erections rubbing wetly against each other, sending sparks throughout both their bodies. As Dean's hands grasped for purchase against the angel's flesh, they trailed over the base of Cas' dark wings causing the angel to shiver and gasp.  
Green eyes flared at the wantonness of the angel's cry, only to have the gaze be mirrored by the angel himself. Greedily, Dean repeated the action, his heart racing even higher with every sound that escaped his angel's open mouth.

With the skill and subtly that comes from being an Angel of the Lord, Cas began opening and stretching himself to take his hunter. He was well aware that Dean still didn't find himself deserving and that the mortal wanted nothing so much as to crawl inside Cas and never leave. The angel hoped that this act would ease Dean, at least in part.

A third finger joined the two already in Cas' body; he moaned at the added intrusion from his lover, his dark wings jerking with the pleasure the stretch gave him. Looking down into darkly dilated eyes, Castiel knew they were both ready for this.  
The angel rose up, wings stretched out allowing the cool night breeze to caress them, heightening his sensations even more. Griping Dean's throbbing erection, Castiel positioned himself and slid down sharply onto the man he loved.

Dean clutched the feathers his fingers had been gently stroking, and Cas' channel tightened in response. Passion was burning inside them, hot, searing, and celestial like the brand on Dean's shoulder. As they thrust against and into each other, eyes locked in a promise of wills and the future. Their need and desire was reaching a crescendo.

Cas wrapped his hand around Dean's scarred shoulder, heat and power and love flowing easily between them.

A howl escaped the hunter's lips as he thrust one final time into his angel, screaming his name as he came.

The stillness of the dark night was shattered by the spread and thunder of the angel's wings fully expanding, blotting the sky and creating a void of passion. With a shudder and whispered cry of Dean's name, Cas followed his hunter into ecstasy.

**

* * *

**

**Epilogue**

When Dean awoke, he was back in his motel room, a sad knowledge tickling his gut. He'd wanted last night to last, to be able to wake up with his angel at his side, but he had known from the beginning that was not likely to happen. He was damaged and the angel pure.

"You know, you have to stop thinking like that," a rough but melodious voice whispered.

"Like what?" Dean asked wondering how much of his thoughts the angel could hear.

Castiel simply shook his head, and smiled at his lover. He walked to the bed, reaching out a hand to cup Dean's face, "Spike and Xander took another room; Spike seemed to think we would want some privacy."

Dean smiled and gripped his angel's hand, wrapping his other arm around the slightly smaller man and pulling him to him. "Sometimes, Penfold has wonderful ideas."


End file.
